


The Fixing of Broken Hearts

by DustyDesertBoots



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: #ItsAllAboutTheSheep, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyDesertBoots/pseuds/DustyDesertBoots
Summary: With the seed sown in S5, Caroline and Gillian take stock of their respective lives and decide to make a new start together for convenience, slowly coming to realise that their friendship runs far deeper than what they had first imagined.(ie getting to the place where hopefully Sally Wainwright will gift us in S6!)
Relationships: Gillian Greenwood/Caroline McKenzie-Dawson
Comments: 74
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

Staring out over the fields, taking a momentary pause from driving in new fence posts, Gillian chuckled to herself over the almost fantasy like situation she was actually living. Far Slack Farm, the place she had farmed even before she was in wellies was to be handed over to its new owner in a week’s time. The place that held so many memories, the good, largely formed over the last seven years, not forgetting the younger years of Raff, the bad which formed the large portion of her adult years and the downright brutal and ugly with all the goings on that culminated in that blasted barn.

Here she was, fixing a fence that she didn’t really need to, but she didn’t want anyone bad mouthing her for leaving the place in a shit state. She mused over the irony that she rarely had the time to fix them when she was farming the place, but had time now. Taking off her gloves, she rubbed her calloused, weathered hands through her hair, damp with sweat.

It was surreal, that she was moving on, calling it a day on the house that had acted in part as a prison and part sanctuary from the world outside, that was now so riddled with woodworm that some of the upstairs floorboards were likely to go through at any time. She was past caring, the sale had gone through, the new buyer fully in the know of what challenges lay ahead which included sorting out that fucking megalith of a giraffe on the side of the barn. Gillian now knew that Raff had had his hand in the not quite a Banksy, but was for a short time a Banksy moment. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Who could when at the heart of the madness, his aim was to help her. She had been blessed by having a good lad.

Looking back the farm, Gillian blocked out the noise of the light breeze rustling the leaves from the nearby trees. As she had done many times before whilst in the fields above the farm, she listened to the noises from across the years sound out before her; laughter, there had definitely been lots of that, but there had been a fair share of shouting and screaming too. Slamming doors and the clang of metal tools still to this day took her to the back of her memory bank which she had hoped to close off for good, but made its way back to consciousness like a bad Christmas movie.

Shuddering in an attempt to shake those dark remnants away, she refocused to the sound of children, Raff, Calamity and now Florence running through the farm yard chasing rogue sheep or the free roaming chickens. Then there was that sound that would split through the thunderous noise of an erupting volcano, the melodious tones of Caroline. The oft imperious modulation of speech from earlier days had been replaced with unguarded warmth and a carefree demeanour that only Gillian was rewarded with. When Caz laughed, and it was Caz not Caroline because the armour she wore like a modern day Joan of Arc had been dropped, it came from deep within and had such freeing emancipation about it that could make even the bleakest moment feel tolerable.

A strange sort of calmness would wash over Gillian when Caroline was around and it was a cocoon that she was not ready to break out of any time soon. The fact that she would not repeat that revelation to anyone, barely to herself, that need to have Caroline close, part of her daily life, only allowing a minor needle scratch on a seismic chart when it should have in reality been registering epic ground shattering proportions.

One night, whilst sat in front of a raging fire having sank an unhealthy amount of decent Malbec in an unequally unhealthy short space of time, with Caroline snuggled next to her under a worn blanket that had been witness to as many dramas as Gillian, her resolve caved in. Caroline had asked her again to meet her halfway and move in together, a request she had considered barking mad some weeks before whilst dashing around like a mad thing chasing sheep, juggling school runs and trying to run a farm. And in that moment of dulled senses and blissful serenity of feeling safe within the proximity of someone she had grown to care for deeply, love even, even if the type of love she felt was a little fuzzy around the edges she had said, “fuck it, I’m in.”

Six months on and the whirlwind of a chapter that had ensued was about to come to an end. They or rather Caroline had found a farm, near Luddenden on the northern side of the A646, close enough to commute into Halifax, but still far enough from everything to feel like a proper farm. The farm had decent acreage to farm sheep, and enough barns and outbuildings to feel like a farm opposed to a hobby project for some posh toff who wanted the rural look but without the hard graft.

Gillian’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she had seen the Real Estate listing price tag, and was already backtracking her decision and trying hard not to look like she was operating out of her league when Caroline had simply looked at her, put a reassuring perfectly manicured hand on her arm and said calmly but firmly, “this is for the children, don’t argue and we can afford this.”

It took will power to not take a swing at the Agent who quietly acknowledged who wore the trousers, metaphorically speaking, as Caroline had decided that a pencilled skirt and heels were entirely fitting for a farm visit. Gillian had managed to keep her mouth shut during the rest of the viewing offering a few non-committal grunts as they were shown around. She had however thrown a look at the chap that said keep your eyes high fella when she caught him admiring Caroline’s legs. Who could blame him, but Gillian had felt such a deep sense of protection, she couldn’t let it fly. For the most part of the hour she had secretly been planning how to section off one of the barns for lambing season or wondering if it was worth it to get the sheep milking parlour up and running again.

It was when they had got back to Caroline’s car that the dam of reality broke, her usual eloquence getting the better of her. “How the fuck am I supposed to afford that place?”

Caroline was not at all fazed by the outburst. At over a million pounds, it was a figure that would feel unreachable to the farmer who had maxed out every single credit limit she had. Moreover, she had done her homework so not to give Gillian any false hope, that would have been simply too cruel.

“Remember, this is supposed to be a joint purchase, with you contributing through the sale of the farm.”

“But even with the sale, I still couldn’t afford to go halves, with the debt I’ve got to clear. Let’s just forget it, it were a pipe dream.”

"If you think for a tiny second that I would scuff the heels of my Jimmy Choos for a pipe dream Gillian, you don’t know me at all. I’m deadly serious about this......about us making a new start.”

Chewing at her practically non-existent thumb nail, Gillian was still too fixated on the money to tease out the reference to _us_ , but had nonetheless banked it for later.

“Just how Caz. C’mon just how the hell can I make this work....coz, coz all I see is more debt stacking up.”

Caroline felt the school ma’am in her come to the fore, all primed to address her students of something quite elementary. Gillian’s face suggested however that she was already mentally undertaking a paper in quantum physics and not getting anywhere fast.

“Ok, I can see that the price drag is a little daunting, but hear me out. I know the land agent has suggested five hundred for Far Slack, which after having done a lot of research of farms in the area is selling yourself short. The land potential alone should realise you at least six and I know that land here doesn’t come up often, as you well know, so will be snapped up.”

“Six. You’re serious aren’t you?”

Nervousness and incredulity were wrapped into one played out in tandem with short bursts of leg bouncing to help work through the kernels of opportunity that were turning in the Shepherdess’s head. Placing a hand on her knee in an attempt to stop Gillian’s leg drilling a hole through the footwell, Caroline transmitted temporary calm through the farmer. Gillian didn't want to acknowledge why she had such a calming effect on her whenever there was contact, intended or not, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. She just parked it for the moment, wrapped her arms around herself as an additional force field to try to stem the wash of emotions that swirled around inside of her. The weight of debt, the past and an unknown future Gillian wore as a visible badge on her arm, more fitting perhaps as a big flashing light and Caroline didn’t miss it for a second.

“Look, I can see this is making you uncomfortable, it’s too much to ask and I’m sorry for unsettling you. I’ll drive us away and we can just put it behind us.”

It was Gillian’s turn to reach out and she put her hand on Caroline’s as she went to press the ignition button. She didn’t want to be flippant and make a comment about why keys weren’t good enough these days...

“No, stop.”

Her other hand covered her mouth in an attempt to stop words tumbling out incoherently as was her usual form. Gillian felt this time that Caroline deserved a better formed response and not some staccato delivered string of words better suited to some TV quiz show.

“Fuck....” She had failed at the first hurdle.

The leg bouncing came back with a vengeance. Tears welled up in her eyes and for the love of God, she didn’t know if she could get the words out.

Caroline, in her indomitable way, sat perfectly still without judgement or impatience to let Gillian rediscover the power of speech. She knew by now that the high likelihood would be a cacophony of words that would be thrown in her direction that she’d have to string together. She loved the passion the smaller, but physically stronger woman delivered like a No 10 bowling ball and would take that over some overworked, overthought sickly sentiment that her ex John would class as literature.

“It feels like I don’t deserve something like this......y’know after everything that wen’ on up at farm. I’ve been there all me life and I genuinely thought that I would leave that place feet first....and that were a real possibility couple times round.” The reference to Eddie was not lost, his presence still hard felt.

“But, y’know...after all the shit I’ve put up with, gone through, I just think that, why for once can I not just have a little bit of the luck that seems to pass me by. Why is it that it’s my tractor that always breaks down when needed most, why is it always my gates that get left open for sheep to bloody wander, why do I get the lion’s share of Yorkshire’s fuckin’ woodworm? But, I get it....this shit is my punishment, folk like me don’t get a break like this, so yeah Caz, this feels like a pipe dream.”

There it was, that same self-condemnation fluttering resolute like the lofty banners of soldiers from yesteryear returning victorious from battle, the rock bottom I’m not worthy mantra that Caroline had tried so hard over the years to steer her away from, but was evident that Gillian was still tightly tethered to. She had never in her life known anyone with such self-loathing or negativity, but she hadn’t lived the life that Gillian had and it cut her hard to the core that such damage could be created.

Caroline needed to be gentle and put back the pieces one by one. Taking Gillian’s hand into her own and clasping it with her other she turned to look at the reduced form huddled against the door. “Look at me.”

They had been here before, so Gillian knew there was no way out of this. Roughly clearing her eyes of any moisture she knew she had no shame in showing, she turned to connect to a face that radiated calmness and importantly safety.

“We’ve been here before and we know that raking over old coals is simply not worth it. I so wish, that I could change the past for you, but I cannot, but what I can do is help with the future, because by my reckoning, you do deserve some good in your life. I know change is hard, and I’m the living antithesis of that, but I do know first hand that you can get through the crap dealt your way. Naturally, wine helps a great deal, but when people rely on you, you just have to take each day as it comes and eventually each day gets a little easier.”

The leg bouncing had slowed, and Gillian had turned fully to face the woman who was literally her anchor in this shitty life of hers. Here she was again, bringing her back from the brink of the abyss.

“Yeah, wine and lots of it.” The default return to humour was a positive sign.

The elephant in the room remained. “Just how though? How would we do this?”

“I’m not sure how much debt needs clearing, but let’s say for argument that once the sale has completed, you clear between three to four hundred thousand. That in my mind could in part be put as contribution to the land, the outbuildings and the old stable block which could be converted into a house for you. I would contribute to the remainder, take the main farm house and have the benefit of land but not be responsible for it. You can continue to farm your sheep, diversify with a different flock even, as I know that the milk parlour has not passed you by. Granted the place needs some work, but with our resources combined we could make this work Gillian.”

“Do y’know how much they charge for sheep cheese at Hebden Farmer’s Market.” It was more of a statement opposed to a question. “Day light robbery if you ask me. Reckon, I could do that on the side, might even break even from it.”

That was the closest Caroline was going to get for, _yes, I will consider this_ , and she willingly took that literally with both hands as they still contained the farmer’s in her own.


	2. Utterly hapless when it comes to love.....

“Just what the f..bloody hell is Broccoli brown when it’s at home for a colour and ‘av you seen this French Grey, there’s no grey wh’ I can see. It’s green, any normal pillock can see that. Are they colour blind or what at that fancy paint shop you’ve been to?”

“Gillian, what you have there is the 2020 colour wheel for Farrow and Ball.

“Fucked in the eyeballs more like.” Gillian chuckled at her own humour. “They’ve missed one…”

Caroline looked up somewhat puzzled by the brunette who had studiously spread out the hinged inch thick of rectangular pallets into a full rainbow circle of colour. An eyebrow raised above her glasses, gave Gillian the prompt to carry on.

“Sheep shit brown, it’s not there. Every other colour brown is there, but that one in particular can stretch to all kinds of shades d’pendin’ on what grass they’ve been eatin’. Been sold short we ‘av.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, and we’re at the stage where we need to select paint.”

“Caz, you know this isn’t my strong point all this fancy shit. I mean look around you, this isn’t the greatest reference point to start from.”

Caroline had to agree with Gillian on that one, as the farmer’s arms gesticulated wildly around her pointing to the drab lounge white..ish walls in the farmhouse that had not seen a lick of paint in years. The way she was throwing the wine glass around to establish her argument however was close enough to giving the walls a Shiraz wash which in part would have been an improvement, but on second thoughts would closely resemble the blood spatter of a murder scene.

_Mmmm, a little too close to home, let’s get back on track._

“It’s paint and moreover I’m not asking you to paint.”

“Good, as closest I get to painting, is spraying sheep an’ lambs on back.”

Caroline felt the long hours of the day creep up her spine and settle in a concentrated spot on her forehead and no amount of rubbing or holding the bridge of her nose would make it go away.

Even the consummate arse Gillian could be, she could see when she had upset Caroline and this new found partnership that they had navigated themselves into, had awakened in her a desire to make sure her Caz was always happy. Gillian couldn’t exactly pin point the moment when she had switched to the use of the possessive when internalising feelings regarding Caroline, but it felt right and she didn’t want to rip off that band aid, or comfort blanket more like any time soon. Putting down the colour wheel, she picked up Caz’s hand, which she was aware both were doing on a regular basis of late and neither had made any formal acknowledgement of the act and gave it a gentle squeeze. A silent signal in their ever growing bank of subtle coding that Gillian was being serious, albeit it for a nanosecond, but she was trying hard to be a better rounded grown up.

“I get that this is important to you. You’ve always had nice things and to be fair, I haven’t so don’t have first clue ‘bout any of it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m lookin’ forward to movin’ on, but if truth be known, I’m scared that I don’t have a clue in how to start fresh. I never thought for a minute that this would happen for me. So what I’m trying to say instead of blatherin’ on, is that you choose paint, ‘cause I know that stables and farmhouse will look spectacular when done. Anyways, I cannot get me head round fact that a 5L pot of paint costs more than a bag of sheep feed. It’s criminal.”

_Those bloody sheep, they’re never far from us…..and I wish she’d stop worrying about money._

Not dwelling on the sheep or the cost of paint, Caroline simply lifted Gillian’s hand to her mouth and ahead of kissing her knuckles, gently mouthed, “Ok.”

At two in the morning, Gillian had given up all hope of sleep. They’d held hands countless times before, they’d kiss each other on the cheek when they saw each other and granted that had increased to when they would go their separate ways on going to bed, leave for work, or return to their respective homes. It had become a mutually accepted practice. But the kissing of the hand, with those baby blues locked onto her own, that was new. So new, it had had the effect of putting a wet hand inside an electric toaster. Gillian had no idea as to how that would actually feel, but guessed that it wouldn’t have the effect of fireworks shooting down her arm through her crotch, down to her toes and all the way back up again. If it did, she would be putting her hand in the toaster on a daily basis.

Unable to settle or compartmentalise her feelings for Caroline, she got up and went downstairs back into the kitchen.The Aga had mercifully kept the chill of the night away and she sat down at the old oak table. Picking up a half empty wine glass she contemplated finishing it off, but knew that an early start and checking on the lambs would not be the best idea. Christ, when did she start being sensible.

Also on the table was the ridiculous colour wedge and Caroline’s notebook. Flicking through it she saw that for each of the new farmhouse rooms, there was a combination of paint names listed. True to form she had done her homework, but what had grabbed Gillian’s attention were the pages that had listed the rooms that had been created within the old Stable block. There were a couple of annotations in Caroline’s beautifully neat cursive handwriting, but for the most part, the pages were a blank canvas just like the intended walls.

The fact that Caroline had thought about Gillian’s new house in the same context as her own, was so selfless and it generated a warmth that she was becoming fast familiar with. She had initially put it down at first to early stages of the menopause as she was technically of that age, but the flushes, the all consuming warmth she felt were directly attributable to whenever she was with Caroline. Gillian had fleetingly toyed with the idea of some form of experiment, but with a scientist, a Dr even, as the subject of examination she thought that there must be some sort of clinical rule against that somewhere. Anyway, she gave up on the idea when she had read something about the creation of a controlled environment and that was just a step too far for someone where chaos ruled supreme nigh on every waking moment of her daily life.

_Oh, fuck it. How hard can it be?_

With no other guide than, go for what you like, Gillian spread the colours out again in front of her. She wanted so much to at least try for Caroline, wanted to prove that the whole moving together was not a complete one sided effort and wholesale disaster, that Celia thought it would be. Three hours later, aided with a copy of House and Home that Caz kept leaving around the place as a subtle, but not so subtle hint for decorative ideas, she raised her hands in victory. Before she could even brandish the notebook and take a lap of honour around the kitchen table or go and show Caz her handiwork, she promptly passed out exhausted.

Gillian was still splayed out across the kitchen table when Caroline came down in the morning. She saw the bottle and thought the worst, but stopped when she saw wine was still present. _Unusual_. More unusual was that Gillian was still in the house and not out and about with the sheep as it was gone past 6.30. _Very unusual._

Careful not to rouse the sleeping farmer, she took in the scene before her. In front of her was the colour wheel with a few of the pallet cards pulled out. She saw her notebook, with a few pages significantly more dogeared than when she had seen it yesterday. It was the bold, block letters that caught her attention and a list of what appeared to be paint colours.

Lifting the notebook and wedge of colours gently from the table, she quietly took them through to the lounge and sat down on the sofa to see what Gillian had selected. There were two columns; the left bore the title in reinforced bold letters, _Poncy Name_ and the right column, was listed as _Trailer Trash_. Caroline had to smile as that early reference was now regularly used as a term of endearment rather than the barbed slur first uttered years ago.

Blazer had been recast as _Landy Red_ and a fear of dread took hold of Caroline as she wondered what room Gillian had in mind for that. Her eyebrows raised at the notes underneath; _would like that for Aga, same as one in kitchen now_. Babouche ( _WTF is that_ ) was transformed to _Primrose Yellow_ _(really delicate petals)_ , with Tunsgate Green being ceremoniously dumped for _Young Foxglove (love the colour of the furry leaf stems that come through start of Spring)_. Bluebell was subject to particularly harsh criticism; _Bluebells are actually a deep purple/violet, not blue knob heads (I like deep purple/violet)_. Caroline noted the amount of exclamation marks that followed Fawn with a sub shade of Brown Beige. She had to agree that just how many sub sets of beige could there be, but smiled as this particular shade was worthy of being traded in for _Masham Sheep (lustrous fleece)_.

As a central point of Gillian’s life, even Caroline had quietly got to know the breeds of sheep kept on Far Slack, so that she could at least look a vaguely bit interested when Gillian went off on one of her monologues. It hadn’t escaped Caroline of the irony that the poncy descriptions trying to provoke a feeling associated with a colour or shade had in Gillian’s own way been replaced with something that she considered understated, but in truth held meaning, had the true depth of something that she could make sense of opposed to some marketing bullshit. That exposition of Gillian’s true character so rarely displayed was laid open bare for the sake of paint, which Caroline banked immediately in her ever growing mental vault of Gillian related treasure.

This new addition rubbed up alongside the very surprising fact that Gillian could rip through The Times crossword at an impressive speed. At first Caroline had thought she had just penned random words into the puzzle she had already started which had generated a mix of annoyance and amusement in equal measure. Looking closer and in full Headmistress mode she checked off each entry, her eyebrows raising a little further at every correct answer. Admonishing herself for being judgmental of the often gruff and coarse mouthed farmer, she made a point from that moment onward to cut Gillian some slack. The gauntlet had however been laid when she noted in the margin a note _Oxford Snotty Bitch 0, Yorkshire Farmer Trailer Trash 1!_

Chuckling inwardly at the memory, her attention was drawn to a line that tracked down the page from the word Bluebell. A hastily scribbled note was connected to an off centre arrow head and one which stopped her dead in her tracks.

_Blue like Caz’s eyes, she has beautiful eyes._


	3. Love is blind, but really this blind........!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the bucket load of really super comments, they certainly provide the impetus to keep writing! This has the emerging hallmarks of a slow burn - stay with me, I promise I will get you to #CarGill!  
> Apologies to any Yorkshire readers if I have strangled your dialect - all mistakes are very definitely my own.

Unlike the firefly actively using its natural bio-luminescence to attract their mate, the two land based Yorkshire nymphs patently ignored, nay put a two inch thick lead lid on the high levels of oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin washing through them. Even Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love would have to be accompanied by the full ensemble of deities, including Zeus to rattle off a few lightening bolts, to break through reinforced defences for the two to openly admit that the feelings they had for one another were a little more than platonic. There was such an obviousness to their _more than just friends_ dynamic, that even the decorator noticed and commented to Gillian on his way out from the farmhouse one evening, that "just before she left, yer missus said she'd put casserole in oven for you." 

The electricity between them was tangible, with only the merest of sparks needed to ignite their outer touchpaper. The resultant firework display of multicoloured brocades and crosettes would however break irrefutably through the surface tension of their personally created bubble. What they had, despite them not naming or acknowledging it, was perfect. It was safe, sometimes on the edge which was terrifying and exciting at the same time, but ultimately it was theirs.

Eyebrows over the last few years in particular had been raised at comments or goings on that didn't precisely fit the moulds the family had set in their minds of the two women, but thoughts were quickly dismissed and put down to, _its only our Gillian and Caroline......_ If the family had collectively collated those moments, they would have stumbled across an increasing frequency of looks, touches and whispered conversations which even to the untrained eye would have led to the one startling conclusion. Instead, locked into the busyness of their own daily lives they were not on hand to help piece this complex jigsaw puzzle together. Even if they had, Caroline and Gillian held the last two pieces that were purposely withheld or lay frustratingly jammed down the side of the sofa where these things tend to end. And so the puzzle remained unfinished for everyone.

"So, what is this you have here - it’s new?" Celia was on the grand tour of the recently finished farmhouse and was delivering her usual volley of questions, more through nosy curiosity opposed to genuine interest.

Her fingers waved in the general direction of what was clearly a custom made rectangular frame inset with a deep olive green mount which held, four covers in place; at the top _Rebecca_ by Daphne du Maurier, followed by Emily Bronte's _Wuthering Heights, The Iliad_ was next in the vertical lineup with the bottom cover representing a complete shift in literary style with Harry Potter's first outing in JK Rowling's _Philosopher's Stone_. 

"Those are the covers of Gillian's favourite books." 

"She reads....and the Iliad...really?" 

Caroline didn't miss the almost disguised insult that lay alongside her Mother's genuine surprise. "Yes, she does and is quite well read actually and I personally found the Iliad quite hard going."

"I thought she was more your Heat or Farmers Weekly type of girl."

"I'm actually impressed that you know what Heat is, but she does have a subscription to the latter, which can be a fascinating read. I never knew there could be so much behind the castration of calves. Don't get me started on the price of sheep."

The look and the eye roll said it all. _She's just not your set._ Caroline returned the look with well practiced ease. _Don't go there._

 _"_ Why do have them in here? If they're Gillian's favourites, why aren't they in the Stables?"

Ah, there was a question and a fair one at that. After the Times crossword discovery, she just had to learn the source of her knowledge as it was intriguing how someone who had dropped out from school had the depth to get beyond _1 Down_. Caroline stumbled, well actually sat on the evidence one afternoon after getting into the Landy to take a trip out to the far side of the farm. Extracting a well read and battered copy of The Great Gatsby, she learned that Gillian read prolifically whilst out watching the sheep. It was her time to escape the farm and transport herself to whatever time, continent or world to walk a different life. If she wasn't reading, she listened to Radio 4 in her tractor. It was only after that revelation did Caroline notice the small stacks of books that lay around the farmhouse and she inwardly smiled at the dark horse that she had found.

 _I don't need to sound like a posh twat to know stuff........._ Caroline's heart went out to Gillian there and then knowing that she was caught between a rock and a hard place. Nobody was interested in her in having an opinion beyond what went on at farm or what was for tea that night. Beyond the grit and multiple layers of varnished self-preservation, there was an inquisitiveness and intellect that no-one saw and lay wasted. 

"Well, after Gillian has finished off in the farm for the night, she often joins me after I have put Flora to bed, and we sit here in the study to read or catch up over the day's events. I consider this a joint space where we can just relax and I wanted to make her feel that this space is hers, just as much as it is mine."

To Caroline that sounded like a perfectly reasonable answer. For Celia however, her twisted brow was enough to signal her inability to reconcile why her daughter would go to that much trouble to get book covers beautifully framed or why Gillian would be sat here in the study rather than across in the Stables. 

Their _togetherness_ permeated their new joint home at High Wells Farm. Whilst Caroline had been the mistress of ceremonies for the Stable conversion, farm house renovation and accompanying decor, Gillian had taken charge of the outside areas. Caroline had made one plea and said that the rest was in the hands of the farmer, "there is to be no sheep shit in the court yard. Much as they are central to your life, I do truly want to get out of the car and not have to River Dance my way to the front door."

Much as Gillian was tempted to contradict Caroline and say that it was a farm opposed to court yard as it was a farm and not a castle that they had moved into, she acquiesced, even making a faux doffing of her cap to the request which earned her a stunning, full teeth smile. It was the type of smile that warmed her from her toes to the tips of her ears, and was the type that would have convinced her to move her sheep to another farm if it had made Caroline happy. She nonetheless installed a cattle grid leading out from the court yard to the road leading to the working farm buildings so that could drive her John Deere 4x4 (secretly her new pride and joy) quad up to the Stables and put in a new gate to properly separate the two distinct areas. It was officially a sheep free zone. 

To balance Caroline's yang of interior design and decorating, years of being outside brought Gillian's ying to bear with the discovery of a knack to recycle and refurbish. After years of spannering to save her tractor from the last rites and a trip to the scrap heap she had amassed a fair set of practical skills and tools to boot. Appalled by the price of garden furniture that made a regular appearance in Reader's Digest sized magazines that arrived on an almost daily basis, Gillian took herself off to a local reclamation yard to see what she could put her mind to. A bistro table set was first to undergo the attention of a grinder and a blow torch to remove rust and paint combined with some nifty welding to reinforce leg stability, she had turned out an authentically aged table and chair combo. For the princely sum of fifty quid she had saved Caroline hundreds of pounds to sit nicely to the left of the farmhouse front door, under the well established boughs of wisteria to drink a glass of wine and watch the world go by. With Caroline's approval, followed by the purchase of seat cushions, Gillian was back off to the yard for her next project. Dragging an old cast iron frame out from underneath a heap of what could only be classed as rubbish even to the most ardent of skip diggers, after a week's worth of love and attention and a YouTube crash course in welding, she topped off the frame with oak which after sanding and copious amounts of oiling produced an outdoor table big enough to seat the entire family. With an overgrown half-acre as a backdrop to her latest piece, it was inevitable that the garden would be next on the list.

She needed to deploy her flail mower to cut through pockets of jungle that were so thick that it would not have been a surprise if a pride of lions had emerged from them. Undeterred and after watching a random episode of Gardener's World and seeing Adam Frost's update to his own garden renovation, Gillian mused one evening whilst quaffing their way through their second bottle of red.

"Reckon I could do something like that out back."

"I reckon you could." With that simple affirmation, and the plot laid bare, the garden was now a maze of plumb lines that even Catherine Zeta Jones in her persona of "Gin" would have found difficult to negotiate her way through. It was a work in progress, but for Gillian, like the Phoenix rising from the ashes, this was the perfect opportunity to make a lasting mark.

  
Gillian's Dad could see that his daughter looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders as she showed him around the farm. Leaning against a stone wall looking out across the valley, taking in the mix of orange and dusky greys that stretched across the skyline as the evening started to draw in. 

"You seem settled in well enough. "'ow did sheep take to move?"

"I kept 'em close to the farm for the first week, spoiled them with pellets and gradually opened the gates to let them wander. I go out on quad bike every morning to make sure none of them have got up to mischief."

"Aye lass, they'll find that hole in fence you never saw and create havoc."

"I've traveled every foot of the fences and walls to make sure, and put in new sections here and there, but we're good."

"You've always had a knack with 'em. "ow's the farm working out? Looks....looks..." Alan wanted to chose his words carefully as he knew deep down that he had a proud daughter, despite the trials and tribulations she had had along the way.

"It's alright Dad. The place is great and isn't about to fall down around our ears. I actually have more time on me hands, even with garden stuff goin' on. Cannot really believe how much time I spent underneath that old tractor which is where I think I spent best part of me day. There were a couple of pieces of machinery and a tractor included in the sale, so it's worked out well."

He didn't want to ask as it had been a sensitive subject before.

"And what about money, are you good?"

Gillian felt it an odd question as it wasn't as if her Dad would have bailed her if the situation had been a dire one. The incident over the woodworm had demonstrated that well enough. But she humoured him as he meant well.

"Actually, never better. For the first time since I were a teenager, I have money in my pocket and don't have the weight of an overdraft trying to push me into an early grave."

"It can't 'av been cheap this place, but as long as you're ok." The question was laced with the undertones of a Celia question set and hadn't been missed.

"Tell Celia, that I paid my fair share for this place and that Caroline is not bankrolling me. I would never let that happen anyway. Refused her paying for woodworm treatment when she offered."

Alan knew better to challenge her retort and resorted to his steady of the road manner.

"Aye lass. Just want to be sure you're set."

"I am Dad and I'm happy, really happy. Sheep are doing well. Raff and Ellie will soon have their own place, but it's nice to have them in the Stables. Calamity and Flora are inseparable and they love to spend every waking moment in the play area I built in field opposite main house." She paused before she got to the main event, the key reason why she was happy, but wanted to remain guarded that her true feelings were not on open display. "An' even though Caz nearly drove me 'round bend with all the decorating stuff, this whole set up is working well. Who'd of thought, we'd end up at same place together!"

"Does she mind livin' on farm?

"Well after boundaries were established, about how close to house sheep could get, she were fine. We see each other every day 'cause of school run and couple of times a week, we sit down to dinner together, mainly at hers 'cause it's like feeding time at the zoo at ours. Little 'un has a right set of lungs on him, so it's nice to get some quiet time. We often end up after I've come back inside, sittin' in study, with a glass of wine, reading."

Alan did his best to not look and ask _where his daughter Gillian had gone._ Gillian could sense his puzzlement.

"I know, far cry from where I were last year."

"Yer happy lass, an' that's all that counts." She did wonder if that sentiment would carry through if she shared where she really thought her happiness lay. She patted that thought down just as quickly as it came up and that by her own count was at least a couple of times a week if she was being honest. 

"Did I mention, that Caz an' I are off to market next week."

"Proper market?"

"Aye, none of the poncy town market stuff. Proper market at Holmfirth. Got her a set of wellies all sorted out, so we are good to go and see if milk sheep on offer are worth 'avin. Really considering giving the whole milk production thing a go.”

The fact that Gillian’s sorting of wellies out for Caroline had trumped his daughter’s interest in potential divergence from a meat flock had not passed him by. On the verge of breaking from the bonds of his usual naivety to question his daughter’s concern about Caroline’s feet, the moment was shattered by the shrill ring tone coming from inside his tweed blazer pocket. Celia had a knack of always interrupting even when she wasn’t there. Gillian’s eye roll mirrored his own at the loss of the moment they had had, and she left him to answer his phone, and took the opportunity to message Caz that they’d be back at farmhouse in ten minutes and there had better be a bottle of wine open. 

“Christ Caz, we’re off to market, not local shoot.” 

Looking down at her selected wardrobe, puzzlement crossed her face. She had thought that the combination of navy skin tight moleskin trousers, white shirt, finished off with a tweed waistcoat and topped with a tweed zipped outer jacket would be perfect. 

Gillian’s raised eyebrows said it all. “You look as if you’ve just walked out of one your fancy magazines. Fellas at market will think lady of manor has come down to pay visit.” 

Clearly crestfallen at her attempt to prepare for her first run out to Holmfirth, Gillian tried a different angle. "If we lose the coat and swap for your regular Barbour and swap your Dubarry's for wellies in Landy, that would at least stop folk staring at you as if you were a prize bull.”

”Well there is nothing wrong with being admired.”

”Aye, but not so sure you would be so giving if they slapped your ass a few times.” 

_If anyone came close I would be sure to break their hands...._

"I’ll go and get my Barbour.”

After an hour’s journey, it was Caz’s turn to resort to the vernacular, when stepped down from the Landy when having arrived at the market. “Christ Gillian, this place really stinks.”

”I cannot smell out. Smells like market to me. Suspect it will get a little bit stronger once we’re inside. Put wellies on that are in back of Landy, as you’ll need them when we go round cattle ‘n sheep viewin’ pens. Your fancy boots won't look same again, trust me. Once yer set, we’ll ease you in by getting a coffee ahead of going for a wander.”

”That sounds like a respectable start.” Caroline didn’t want to admit that she already felt like a fish out of water, but loved seeing Gillian in her element. Small shops set inside the outer ring of the market, a market within a market offered visitors the chance to stock up on essentials. Fresh produce butted up alongside general farming hardware and coffee shops boasting locally roasted beans offered a surprising provincial side to the market she had not expected. She was quite happy to be guided by the diminutive farmer and felt pride rush through her as she walked alongside listening as she shared facts about the benefits of different types of feed or how the cost of wormer was becoming scandalous. This was Gillian at her most animated and she loved the belt fed delivery of new information as they meandered deeper into the market.

Caroline inwardly thanked Gillian for her earlier observation to take the high country couture down a peg as she rubbed shoulders with a cross section of Yorkshire’s farmers. There was clearly a demographic difference in dress with the delineating marker around the 55 year mark; flat cap wearers for those above that threshold with a mix of baseball cap or no hat for the younger cohort. Similarly, the former opted for a country cut jacket over thick shirts, whilst the colts had a penchant for a fleecy gillet over a collared shirt. There was a minority bunch who had chosen to remain in their coveralls, throwing any sense of decorum to the wind for the sake of a day away from the farm. She noted that most of the ladies attending the market mirrored Gillian in her choice of attire; jeans, shirt, obligatory waxed jacket and wellies. Whilst her hair and makeup were clearly a huge step up than what was considered acceptable for a run out, she didn’t feel out of place. If only her mother could see her! 

With a reasonably decent coffee in hand, they made there way through to the inner sanctum to the main event. Gillian was right, the smell of gallons of urine from a range of livestock had reached a new height. Keen not to make a fuss as she really wanted to be supportive, Caroline literally just sucked it up and mentally started to breakdown the chemical composition of the aroma to take her mind off the almost dizzying levels of ammonia. 

"We're looking for Pens 56-62. There's more Milk Sheep than usual so we may well be in luck. C'mon follow me, biddin' starts in ten."

Without hesitation, Gillian grabbed Caroline's hand and gently pulled her through the throng of market goers. It felt the most natural thing to be led by Gillian and she was not sure if it was her imagination, but it felt as if the energy that Gillian was currently radiating through excitement was responsible for the parting of the Red Sea of farmers, effortlessly navigating them through to their intended destination. 

It was like watching a kid in a sweet shop whose Christmas and Birthday had come at once. In a matter of seconds, Gillian's eyes had scanned the length of the six pens Milk Sheep, coming to rest on No 59. "Oh, look at these beauties." The statement was full of reverence, but in all honesty, Caroline could scare tell the difference between the sheep from one pen to another. 

"They look very sheep like to me."

"How can I put this into context?" Gillian took a moment to gather her thoughts. "They may look the same, but they're very different. Just like molecules that have the same molecular formula, but their atoms are connected in a different order."

If there was ever a moment that Caroline felt that her eyes would burst out of her head with utter disbelief, it would be now. Never in her life, would she have imagined that isomers would be played back to her as an analogy to differentiate sheep. Rendered speechless, her mind further dissolved into mush when Gillian smiled and winked; _game, set and match._

"How did....." Caroline was cut off with a shush from Gillian.

"Biddin's 'bout to start and we need our 'eads in game." In a nanosecond, Gillian had shifted from citing chemical compound structure to returning to her usual delivery in thick Yorkshire accent. Caroline's attempt to access the depths of this enigma was thwarted by the arrival of the auctioneer on the wooden walkway above the sheep pen. 

An unfathomable language spewed forth from the gentleman who wore a lovely tweed jacket and corduroys and was topped off with the obligatory flat cap. Gillian was enraptured, her eyes and ears switching between the auctioneer and a farmer who appeared to be bidding against her. Caroline, had no idea what was going on and stood resolute next to her farmer, hoping that her headmistress persona would shield and make them impervious to any overt displays of masculinity. She sensed that the bidding had reached a critical stage as Gillian had in the moment grabbed hold of Caroline's thigh and was gradually increasing pressure as the intensity of the bidding continued. It brought a simultaneous mix of pain and pleasure and not wanting to spoil the moment, she both enjoyed and endured the sensation which was setting off all manner of reactions across her body; she made a mental note that going to market was a highly enjoyable affair after all. 

With a fresh jolt to her thigh, she was startled from her private indulgence, when Gillian jumped, elated in winning the bidding. Euphoric, the farmer turned around and pulled Caroline into a hug, placing a huge kiss to her cheek. "We did it, we got them."

Caroline felt a little guilty in not having had her mind fully on the task at hand. "Super news." That was the best she could offer whilst she battled with freshly awakened hormones coursing through her body. Gillian still held onto her tightly, needing the support as the adrenaline from the moment petered out.

"God, never knew how much I needed that."

At this point Caroline flushed with more than just the smell of ammonia, couldn't have agreed more. Despite the addition of thirty head of Friesan milk sheep to the farm, Caroline would have willingly had Gillian bid on another five pens for an encore of having the pleasure of the farmer's hands on her. Instead, she chose to reconnect her hand with Gillian's as they made their way to the market office to settle up. They made for a distinctive pair as they wove their way through the throng of activity, happiness plastered over their faces, too caught up in their own thoughts of either sheep or sex, to hear one of the older farmers comment, "nowt as queer as folk!"


	4. You can take a horse to water, but.....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our ladies remain somewhat oblivious, but there are tentative steps....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tech issue with Chapter 3, which appears not to have refreshed the story following uploading - be sure to track back and ensure you have not missed out.
> 
> River Deep Mountain High, 1966 Ike & Tina Turner released by Philles Records.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Stay safe out there.
> 
> Any hints for transferring from Word into Rich Text greatly received!!

Gillian hadn’t meant to stare, but after entering the farmhouse with her coveralls tied around her waist, hands and forearms at the ready for their second scrub, her attention was drawn to the kitchen where she heard music and some surprisingly on key backing singing. She had never taken Caroline for a Tina Turner fan, but there she was in her glory, in front of the Aga, rocking those beautiful hips, tapping her feet and waving a wooden spoon dripping in beef bourguignon perilously close to that fabulous white shirt.

_Do I love you, my oh my?_

_Oh baby River Deep, mountain high If I lost you would I cry_

Gillian was magnetised by the blend of domesticity, the confidence that only middle aged women appeared to have, the seen it, done it (twice, thrice) and have thrown away the t-shirt type, and pure unadulterated sex appeal that oozed from every pore, which Caroline remained distinctly oblivious to. The farmer however, was becoming increasingly aware by the day that her eyes regularly drifted from head level taking in the rolling landscape of pillowy breasts, tracing a cleavage that rivalled Stean Gorge and god those hips that you just wanted to be anchored to. All in all, she noted that her thoughts were pretty gutter level already without having seen all of this beauty unwrapped.

She was officially screwed and there were only a few roads where this could go. Stop, turn around, a complete dead end – nothing to see here. Take the option of proceeding with caution, but knowing Gillian’s luck she’d hit a road bump somewhere and crash the proverbial car. Or, just take the direct route and accept the intended destination. With a library of bad decisions already behind her she didn’t want to add to the list, so opted for not making a fuss and putting on the hand break and just stare out of the window and watch the world go by. You couldn’t fuck anything up that way.

Caught up in the moment and propped up against the doorway, Gillian belted out with equal gusto to reach the crescendo of the chorus. The hand break that she had opted for in a split nanosecond lost two notches of its bite.

_Oh, how I love you, baby, baby, baby, baby_

How true this mutual declaration of musical love was, the words perfectly formed for what the each of them really felt, but not openly expressed. Before they could reach endearing comparisons of puppy dogs and enduring faithfulness, the shock of another voice joining her own, jolted Caroline from her rare R&B reverie, christening the new glass splash back with glistening jus.

“Christ on a bike, how long have you been there? Alexa, volume down.”

“Please don’t stop, you were amazin’. C’mon sing w’ me.”

The look said _not on your life_.

Gillian was not one to back down easily and caught up with the lyrics, sliding with ease across the slate tiles into the heart of the kitchen in her socked feet. Her swaying hips didn’t look as graceful as Caroline’s, but that was down to the coveralls adding lumps and bumps where they weren’t needed.

_Cause it grows stronger like a river flows And it gets sweeter, baby and Heaven knows_

Caroline’s initial shock had now morphed into unbridled wonderment as she listened to Gillian holding up the tune, sort of sashaying, blue eyes locked like a programmed Exocet missile. Even Tina Turner with those wonderful legs up to her ears wearing that fabulous gold tasseled dress would be cast aside for this true grit Yorkshire beauty. It was fast becoming pointless to deny it that her thoughts about her step sister had crossed and rapidly descended the line of what was considered decent.

Throwing her usual caution to the wind, she joined in the final chorus and it felt truly liberating once again feeling the safety net that Gillian threw around her. She was truly buzzing when the song came to an end which was disappointingly followed by something neither had the inclination to even hum to.

“Fuckin’ great! We could give the Ikettes a run for their money soundin’ like that.”

“I doubt that I would have the staying power for a rendition of River Deep Mountain High. A little too much high octane energy for my back to sustain.”

“Check you out, who would ‘a thought it, you a fan of Tina.”

“It’s not a widely known fact, I’ll give you, but there is such raw beauty and passion to her voice that you cannot fail to appreciate her talents.”

Gillian sensed there was more to it than vocal chords alone, so instead busied herself by what was on the stove top. “I can smell one of your talents. What you got going on there Chef?” Her attempt to shuffle forward was thwarted by Caroline who blocked Gillian on her very obvious track to get at the beef for an advance taste.

The wooden spoon was brandished in front of her as a warning.

“No, no and no.” Looking Gillian up and down and taking perhaps a little more time to appreciate the woman in front of her, served to initiate a single eyebrow raise from the meandering farmer.

“This lot comes off before you get comfortable in here lady.”

Gillian’s eyebrow lifted higher at the direction, not knowing whether there was an entendre buried in that statement somewhere. It had nonetheless kick started a thought of her just shrugging out of her coveralls and saying you next, but that boldness would perhaps send Caroline for the hills.

The blonde however caught up with her faux pas and was quick to try and fix it.

“Remember, the rule. No coveralls in the house and certainly not in the kitchen.”

Amused and suitably emboldened to see Caroline blush a little further, Gillian ratcheted up the stakes. She purposefully flattened her accent and slowed her delivery in an attempt to emulate the huskiness of Greta Garbo.

“Of course, let me slip into something more comfortable.”

Taken aback by the sultry edge to her voice, Caroline had to stifle a hitch in her breathing. Was Gillian flirting with her? She was rubbish with this sort of thing, but the eyes didn’t lie and she wasn’t blind to missing the intensity that met her own. _She is. She is. She’s flirting. Oh fuck, does she suspect?_

So distracted by how quickly the tables had been turned upon her, she missed the wooden spoon being taken from her hand and quickly transferred to Gillian’s mouth. That alone got her attention, but she had to grab the granite worktop for stability when the temptress sucked the beef jus clean off of it. It was deliberate, provocative and clear in its intent. Her legs near buckled underneath her when Gillian winked at her, just as she turned to leave the room to change.

“Tasty” was the word that was left and hung in the air between them.

 _Fuck_ was all that Caroline could manage when Gillian was out of earshot. What the hell was she supposed to do with that?

Dinner was its usual blend of sarcastic banter and laughter oiled by deep reds, creating a Ready Brek esque glow around the ladies. In their usual places, Caroline sat at the head of the huge kitchen table with Gillian to her right, still close enough to allow for the supposedly innocuous brushing of hands when reaching for condiments or wine. When offering to clear plates, Gillian used the moment to squeeze Caz’s forearm to drive home her wish to volunteer, “allow me.” It was a minor act of gratitude, but priceless as it was never something that John had ever mastered.

The evening was a blend of give and take and Caroline’s new found passion of cooking, a step beyond the perfunctory need to just solely feed her family, but instead to nourish and sate manifesting itself in a delightful flow of food to the table. She knew Gillian could burn thousands of calories a day through the care of the farm and she wanted to make sure that she was fully charged to undertake whatever eventuality became her. Being gripped firmly and taken by Gillian in the old tack room was one such event her imagination had taken her to, which had resulted in Caroline having to take a pacy walk around the front field with Ruth and Flora. She couldn’t now go in there without feeling a rush of warmth envelope her.

It had not escaped her that she was using food to woo the farmer to her table. In fairness Gillian would have willingly sat down to a bag of chips if that was all on offer, but Caroline was purposefully going the extra mile of whatever this courting ritual they had got themselves into. Nonetheless, she enjoyed the secondary effect of expanding the range of Gillian’s food experience. Having once elicited a response of, “C’etait delicieux, non.., magnifique,” resulted in a near Le Creuset pan drop on Caroline’s part which would have undoubtedly led to a broken foot or at least a shattered floor tile. Ultimately, it had her rushing for Nigella, Jamie and Gordon on a regular basis, such was the desire to please.

Gillian in turn was not oblivious to the increasingly refined food coming her way. Working really hard to stop the natural reflex of wondering what foreign muck was in front of her, she embraced the effort that Caroline had gone to. Saturday nights had become an unwritten push the boat out night, where Caroline insisted on cooking and the kids would be entertained by Raff and Ellie.

Gillian now felt an obligation to make more of an effort and whilst jeans would still be regarded as acceptable attire, they were still at farm and not out after all, they were nonetheless clean, finished off with a blouse opposed one of her vast array of checked shirts. She too had unwittingly joined the mating ritual, coming armed with artisan cheeses from local markets under the pretense of wanting to know what her sheep’s milk could end up being turned into, but secretly knowing that Caroline adored cheese after dinner.

Her latest addition to the ritual was the bringing of flowers. In true to form Yorkshire style, the blooms were none of the overpriced creations wrapped in plastic from town, but handpicked stems from the fields she passed through on her rounds. Tonight’s wild gathering had been a mix of Bluebells, Red Campion, young Hart’s Tongue fern secured with brown string and a simple green ribbon. This particular array which had been grouped into a well ordered posy hadn’t been missed by Ellie as Gillian busied herself in the kitchen with the tidying off of the stalks.

“They look nice. Are they for Caroline?”

“Yep. Got them from lower field that backs onto treeline. The one that leads down to the stream.”

“Aye, I know. She’ll like them. Seen her down there a couple of time w’kids and dog.”

It was as if it was completely normal that a woman would go to that much trouble for flowers and Gillian completely missed the subtle, but peaked level of interest in her freshly cut offering.

“Raff, I’m telling yer. There’s summit goin’ on with yer mum and Caroline. It’s like they’re like datin’ but not datin’, do y’know what I mean?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“An’ when were last time, you went in field and picked me flowers……or even brought me flowers for that matter?”

There was no come back to that.

“Look, she’s off to Farmhouse. I swear blind, I’ve lost count of how many times she’s looked in hall mirror over last half hour.”

The two peered carefully from the window as Gillian made the short walk across the courtyard, flowers in one hand swinging a tote bag in the other. There was a definite lightness in her step. She was the personification of happy. That was quickly overtaken by a sort of nervy, cat on a hot tin roof sort of dance as she waited for the door to open.

“An’ when the ‘ell, does she ever knock before she goes in?”

“Perhaps she’s just being polite.”

The look that Ellie cast Raff said it all. _You absolute idiot_.

The look on Caroline’s face when she took the flowers from Gillian, pulling her into an almighty hug and landing a firm kiss on her cheek pretty much cemented her suspicions there and then.

“If that’s what goin’ to market does to you, we’re off there next week!”

The night was drawing to its usual conclusion. Drooping eyelids befell the ladies as they sat on the sofa in front of a fire with dying embers. Gillian groaned as Caroline tried to gently wrest her from her state of slumber.

“C’mon, you know that you’ll be a twat in the morning if you stay there.”

“mmm, comfy here though.”

Moments ago, her head had been on Caz’s chest and that in Gillian’s books topped off any of the fancy pillows that awaited her in the spare bedroom that had officially become her room.

“I know, but you’ll thank me in the morning.”

Pulling her hand gently, Caroline persuaded the farmer to uncurl herself and follow. Their hands stayed together as they made their way through the quiet house to the staircase. Before she took the first step, she turned and faced Gillian, who was slightly startled by the change in Caroline’s direction. A nightlight from the hallway upstairs provided enough lumens of flux for Gillian to see Caroline’s face and the very obvious need for her to share the almost tangible thoughts racing around in her head. With Caroline backed up against the stair’s newel post and Gillian a mere inch away from the warmth of the body she had just moments ago been unceremoniously laid upon, their proximity mirrored the type of spontaneous chemical reaction that ideally needed to be harnessed by a nuclear power station.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

Gillian cocked her head to one side in question. Her breathy response of _what for_ signaled that even she recognised that this wasn’t just your normal after dinner declaration. The customary shuffling of a single foot synonymous with her self-depreciating uncertainty followed.

“You.” Simple, yet loaded all at the same time.

They had arrived at the moment of that parallel traveled path which had now converged and here they were. There was still enough ambiguity to back away, but more than enough potential to take the next step.

Caroline’s free hand came up to Gillian’s face and with her thumb she gently ghosted the contours that were laid open and bare. There was no doubt that this beautiful face which could contort and twist conveying such an array of emotions and whilst Caroline could not by any means navigate herself from one side of a Land Ranger map to another, she could see her own hope mirrored before her.

Daring to make her intention perfectly clear, she traversed the soft flesh of the cheek and tracked a line to Gillian’s bottom lip. There she felt the soft tip of a tongue making an attempt to moisten lips, instigating a level of sensuality that reverberated through the women which both felt had been packed away for good. They were on the edge of a precipice.

With no utterance of objection, Caroline closed what was left of the minuscule distance between them. As lips came together in their first embrace, the warm breath of anticipation washed across their faces. It was all that was needed to bring down the dam walls and like a herd of stampeding horses, their next connection was filled with an urgent all consuming need. Hands wove their way into hair and bodies pulled tight into the curves of the other, whilst mouths, tongues and teeth tasted, pulled and devoured. Months if not years of feelings had been unleashed and there was in this moment a pressing imperative to make good the lost time. All they had coveted, lusted after, desired was there for the taking. With the shackles that had tied them both to a drought of intimacy blown clean off, hands now were in desperate search to get to unfettered flesh that had until now been off limits.

Caroline was first to the prize managing to find access underneath Gillian’s blouse, her finger tips finding the dip of the well-defined _erector spinae_ muscle that ran up her lower back. With a merry dance being played out by lips on her neck, she could only respond by sinking her nails in deep, pulling in the smaller woman even closer, her thigh connecting with a jean covered core.

That conflagration brought about a heady mix of fireworks, intoxicating arousal and sudden loss. Where there was heat, there was now a chasm of fresh air between them.

Caroline looked bewildered at the sudden change of pace, taking a moment to catch up with what had happened. In front, stood her paramour equally perplexed, the ecstasy that she had felt and heard from her evaporated.

“Gillian?”

She couldn’t help the desperation that had crept into her voice. “What’s wrong, I got the impression……”

She didn’t finish the sentence as Gillian cut her off. With hands trying to wash away the magnitude of the moment from her face, she filled the growing void.

“I’m sorry Caz. I’m sorry.”

Without an explanation as to what she was sorry for, Gillian spun on her heels and headed for the front door. Pausing momentarily, she looked back at Caroline, somewhat disheveled, her mouth wide open at what had just passed, utterly confused.

Gillian offered no more other than a tight lipped smile, opened the door and stepped into the darkness. She made her way across the courtyard in her socks and let herself quietly into the stables.

Leaning back against the closed door, she let out a strangled sob and one solitary _FUCK_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be too easy to waltz into the sunset.......stay with me!


	5. Patience is a virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ladies have some time on their hands to think.....

She thought that she knew what hell felt like, but at this point Gillian was certain that she had pretty much wound her way down several layers of Dante’s Inferno reaching by her reckoning a new low.

Bolting from the farm as she had done had been a monumental mistake, but there it was in all of its glory, fuck up number 345 of her recent life. Well that was 344, 345 was not being a grown up and going back across to see Caroline on Sunday morning and explain herself. That would have been the decent thing to do, the right thing to do. Instead, she chose the all together shitty option of trying to ignore what had happened and shut out Caroline instead. 

It was now Wednesday. Day four in the farm where all was certainly not right. The sheep had been the only real benefactors of this new found extended time that Gillian had created. She spent more time than was absolutely necessary going out to check the herds and if there had been a prize for cleanest milking parlour she would have certainly been a contender. Keeping busy was her coping mechanism to not feel or acknowledge her feelings or the shit storm she had whipped up. She knew that Caroline deserved a damn sight better, but her old self had risen up from the depths and had enveloped her, smothering any smattering of decency she should have instead leant heavily upon.

Her approach was to _just get on wer it_ and try to work past Saturday night. By Monday, that approach already had the hallmarks of Icarus’ attempt to fly with wax and feather wings and wasn’t going to work. Tuesday heralded a day of spanner throwing which had they been horse shoes, she would have been ripe for the next county fair. Everyone, including the chickens were walking on eggshells.

“She were out of house at half four this morning.”

“Are y’ sure, that’s early by Mum’s book. An’ how d’you know what time it was?” Raff’s interest was peaked by Ellie’s early morning awareness of what was going on.

Leaning against the Aga with mug in hand, the matriarch in waiting, looked at Raff wondering just how much of life passed by him.

“Well, you may sleep like the dead, but I swear blind that yer Mum revved the quad so hard that I thought she were trying to jump cattle grid.”

“At half four? Even sheep are not up then.”

“Aye Sherlock, they’re not. So what are you goin’ to do ‘bout it?”

That got his attention. “Me? Nah, just leave well alone, she’ll come round.”

“Just like yer Mother, you. Ignore everything and hope that life just magics its way right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? An’ what exactly did you have in mind with me Mum?”

Ellie took in a long deep breath synonymous to that taken by all mothers and wives when trying to explain something quite obviously simple to their loved ones. It was clear that this was going to have to be spelled out to Raff; Gillian’s DNA ran strong in this one.

“Well, as we know, yer Mum were here Sunday morning when normally she would stay over at Caroline’s. We didn’t have Sunday lunch together, which if you recall sent our Calamity into a flat spin. An’ finally, neither yer Mum or Caroline have spoken to each other, so what does that tell yer?”

“They’ve had a fallin’ out….?” Raff was hedging his bets. Ellie was having to use her deep reserves of patience with her man, seriously wondering how he’d become a school teacher as he clearly didn’t have enough brain cells to work out what was right in front of him.

She offered a long drawn out, “yes,” as a less than subtle indication to Raff that more was needed from him.

“They’ve had a fallin’ out because……..?” The struggle was clearly etched out on his face.

_Christ, this is painful._

Bright and breezy as a new day, his daughter who had just waltzed into the kitchen filled the gap.

“Cause Gran loves Auntie Caz and some ‘ow, she’s gone and messed up.”

Ellie’s heart was filled with pride and admiration for her Calamity and gave her an extra special hug for not managing to state the obvious to her Dad without swearing.

“Is Dad being a twat about this?” Ellie had to laugh at her daughter’s forthright nature; Gillian’s DNA certainly ran strong, but sensed that the ripe language that coloured their everyday lives was more at play here.

“Oi, young lady, we’ll have none of that language in here.” Raff tried to leverage his Dad status to admonish his young tearaway.

“Does that mean you have to tell Gran that she has to stop swearing too?”

Raff looked at Ellie for a lifeline. Just what else was going to be added to the proverbial shopping list of chats that he was being directed to have with his Mum. She in turn shrugged her shoulders and smiled, amused moreover by the drama that surrounded them.

“Yer, ’av a lot on yer plate today you do.”

“Perhaps we should just send in the cavalry, she seems to be up to speed. An’ anyhow, just now the ‘ell are you supposed to start a conversation about what yer both referring to?”

Raff’s eyes drifted towards his daughter who was busying herself with a box of rice crispies, the majority of the tiny puffs going everywhere but the bowl that was the intended destination.

Ellie shook her head in mock disbelief. This gentle soul whom she loved with all her heart, was just not wired to use the balls he had been born with.

“Aye that’s right, send a woman in do to a man’s job.”

  
  


Caroline was faring no better. The moment the door had closed behind Gillian, the realisation that she was alone hit home hard. She too had ended up on the floor, shouting expletives into the air that had moments ago been charged with powerful electricity. All that remained was the still air of the night, the promise of something special, completely gone, completely fucked up.

She had the grace to give Gillian space, it was her after all that had pulled away. She knew Gillian well enough to know that she would want to work through whatever was on her mind. That didn’t make it any easier to stand tentatively on the sidelines waiting to be pulled back into the foray.

It was completely unreasonable of her to have clipped the way she had done at two sixth formers caught necking in the library, but she surmised in hindsight that was just her subconscious raging at the fact that the youngsters were _getting some_ and she wasn’t. It was hard not to be reminded about the brief passionate exchange she’d experienced when there was a mark, the ghost of Gillian’s mouth on her lower neck.

On her drive home each night from work, the same question that had started rattling around her head on Sunday as she pottered around the house trying to keep busy, consumed her.

_What did I miss?_

What indeed had she missed, as she was absolutely certain that she hadn’t imagined those strong hands that had seized her breasts with the vigour of a Knight claiming his prize. There hadn’t been any nervy fumblings akin to a first time outing. She had felt genuine need and passion that had matched her own if she recalled correctly. She felt as if a fire had been lit underneath her.

Caroline’s mind circled back to the same conclusion, the only reasonable and logical one that she could reach. Gillian was scared, however that was interchangeable with Caroline had scared her off, depending on the degree of over thinking she applied.

On the cusp of slipping into the fourth evening and restless night of not knowing what exactly was going on, she decided that enough was enough and to grab the proverbial bull by the horns. They needed to re-establish an equilibrium, get back onto whatever track they could to move on, as this limbo they had created was suffocating. At this point, Caroline would settle for just seeing Gillian, hear her voice, talk about whatever sheep related issue she wanted to, she just needed to be mixing in the same air as her. Needed to see those eyes, see the creases form across her face when she wrestled with a thought, see her smile.

Faced with the reality of being so helplessly in love with the farmer and the even more concerning reality that it could be unrequited, it was time for action. She wasn’t going to live the torture of a Regency romance novel and wait for the final chapter for her to get her man, or in this case, her woman.

Slamming her hand down on the kitchen table to mark her resolve, she sealed the deal with a firm, “Fuck it.”

Striding through the house she felt the most alive she had done since being pinned against the staircase. Her pace and focus shifted when she stepped onto one of Flora’s discarded toys which let out a muffled squeak.

 _Fuck._ An internal realignment of thoughts. _Fuck, Flora._

“Hey, Angel, put on your shoes, we’re going across to the Stables.”

With gusto equalling that of her mother, the youngster bounded down the stairs. Everyone had been affected, and the kids young in years, but already wise to the foibles of human nature, were not blind to the shift in mood.

Flora was ready and out of the door keen to catch up with Calamity. “C’mon Mum, hurry up.”

Grasping the little girl’s hand, she walked them across the courtyard, one with the pent up energy of a race horse at the starting line and one with a rapidly waning confidence and a bout of nerves creeping in.

Caroline’s attempt to knock at the door was thwarted by her daughter letting herself in, rushing the mildly startled family sat at the kitchen table. With her still hand frozen in mid air, and mouth agape at her child’s lack of formality, Caroline attempted to rescue the moment. Ellie beat her to it, the imposition of a child barrelling into the house accompanied by a bewildered parent left standing at the threshold was accepted as the most normal thing in the world.

Ellie inwardly punched the air in victory. She’d won the bet she had with Raff as to which of the women would break first.

“C’mon in, Caroline. Don’t stand on ceremony. Tea’s on.”

Caroline’s eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, mentally ticking off the occupants. One person was missing.

Revelling in her preliminary win, Ellie was keen to double up and hit the jackpot. Raff could see her gearing up and the look he cast her was clear. _Knock it off will yer._ For the last couple of days he’d been firmly in denial that his Mum and Caroline were more than just friends. Today, however after watching his Mum sit in the Landy, engine running and just stare at the farmhouse for ten minutes straight, his certainty was starting to slip. And now, with the woman in question stood in front of him with the nervous energy of a soldier about to go into battle, the needle of doubt swung firmly in the other direction.

_Oh sweet Jesus._

“Gillian’s up in top field.”

Caroline looked at Ellie with a _how did you know that I wanted to see Gillian look._

Ellie busied herself with pouring a mug of tea without asking whether Caroline wanted one or not.

“Just figured, she were who you were after.”

The hint of _we know exactly what is going on here_ was pointedly ignored.

“Yes, well I did want to see her. It won’t have gone unnoticed I’m sure, but there has been a bit of an atmosphere these last few days that I believe needs addressing.”

“A bit. That’s understatement of year that is. Did you ruin soufflé or summit, as I’ve not seen me Mum this wound up in years?”

Caroline felt indignant that her culinary skills had been regarded as the culprit of this somewhat bewildering situation they had found themselves in. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help bristling.

“We had a perfectly good beef bourguignon thank you.”

Taking a moment to compose herself without wanting to be drawn into providing an explanation or endure Ellie’s eyebrows rise any further up her forehead, she changed tack.

“If she is in the top field, I need a favour.”

Banging in the post a little harder than was absolutely necessary, Gillian’s ears were alerted to a noise that cut through the dull thump of metal against wood. This far out, all she should hear was the wind whispering at her thoughts, her sheep nibbling at grass or the fleeting notes of bird song, not the sound of an engine straining at being in the wrong gear.

Turning to track the source of noise, she spotted a quad making its way through one of her lower fields. Who the hell was on her land was her first reaction and she immediately grew six inches to take on the cheeky bastard who was taking liberties.

Straining her eyes to see to make out who this interloper was, her attention was drawn to hair, blonde hair being blown about and her heart caught in her throat. Caroline. There she was stood up, feet firmly planted on the foot plates; a proud modern day Boudica in her chariot. She looked utterly magnificent.

Gillian’s conscience stated the obvious….. _you fuckwit!_

In grappling with what you could not love about this woman, this wonderful human being who had somehow learned to ride a quad bike, she could not help chuckle at the obvious.

Looking at one of the sheep that was rubbing its head against her leg, she spoke to it as if it understood every word she uttered. “She’s missed gate, gone too high up field.”

It was as if Caroline had simultaneously heard her as she gingerly steered the quad left and headed for the gate. Gillian’s eyes remained fixed on Caroline as she corrected her route and made her way up the field and towards the last gate that remained between them. Swinging her legs confidently back over the saddle, putting the quad in gear and making a jumpy start with a shaky release of the clutch, Gillian’s heart felt as if it were going to burst right out of her chest in those last fifty or so metres of Caroline’s approach.

An inner monologue of _be cool, be cool, be cool_ was on repeat whilst she struggled to keep the empty sack of feed under control from the light breeze. She felt the exact opposite of what she was trying to exude and braced herself for whatever barrage was coming her way. In fairness she knew she deserved a right good dressing down. She’d been a right arsehole.

Caroline stopped feet in front of Gillian, her crowning moment of _look what I did_ ruined by stalling the quad and unceremoniously throwing her hard against the fuselage.

“We’ll make farmer of you yet.” True to form, Gillian used humour as an attempt to diffuse the situation.

The blonde stayed put, sitting imperiously on her chariot. “That may well be the case, but you wouldn’t see me dead in a set of coveralls.”

The ice had been broken and Gillian was heartened by the fact that Caroline hadn’t attempted to run her down.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’d much prefer you didn’t say that. The last time you said that, you bolted for the door and I’m not sure that I’m skilful enough as yet to chase you over Yorkshire on this thing.”

Gillian looked furtively at Caroline. “You’d chase me?”

The fight, if indeed any fight had existed, left Caroline.

“Christ Gillian, I swear blind that these sheep are sharper than you sometimes. Did it not occur to you the other night, when my hand was up your shirt that I may have more than just a passing interest?”

“I’m just strugglin’….with the part that you like me, y’know like....that way.”

Caroline had to laugh. “And here was me thinking that you had got your knickers in a twist about being with a woman and that was why you’d run.”

“God no, who wouldn’t fancy you? You’re gorgeous and I’m…..well, just look at me, why would you bother with me?”

There it was again, in neon flashing lights. _I’m not good enough._ Caroline was uncertain that despite the new start whether that nagging self doubt would ever leave this woman.

“Why wouldn’t I bother with you? Contrary to everything that you’ve been convinced of, you are a wonderful, beautiful person.”

Gillian’s eyes remained firmly fixed on her boots unconvinced. She couldn’t face Caroline for the revelation that had chewed her up inside these last few days. Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“I never thought that I would fall in love with a woman. Mores the point, I didn’t think that I would fall in love with you.”

There it was finally out in the open and Gillian braced herself for the world to swallow her up.

“Oh, Gillian.” 

Looking up and then directly at Caroline, Gillian saw her love reflected back at her. Come to think about it, she had seen that look a few times before, but had opted not to fully unwrap its meaning. God how long had they been dancing around this. 

“Whatever this is, it means so much to me that it scares the life outta me. Y’know what I mean?”

“I do, yes I really do.”

“I have a shit run of failed relationships behind me and I’m scared that I’ll mess this up big time. You’re too special to fuck this up and I’m caught between not risking everything and risking everything to keep you. It’s been screwin’ my head right up.”

“There’s only one thing that should be screwing with you right now.”

Gillian couldn’t believe her ears. A slightly smutty Caroline was something that she could used to very quickly.

“First off, you’d better give me a hand getting off this bike as walking like John Wayne is a high possibility right now and one experience I would rather miss.”

Gillian offered her hand and helped Caroline balance as she ungracefully dismounted. Caroline felt that she had already undergone ten rounds in the bedroom, the discomfort in her hips subsiding as her feet found solid ground.

They were once again in each other’s air and the headiness fuelled previously by wine was now powered by anticipation. Stepping closer, Caroline pulled Gillian towards her, clamping her farmer and accompanying empty feed bag firmly to her chest.

It wasn’t quite the manicured setting for the closing scene of a Hollywood movie, but it fitted like a glove for the two to embrace what they meant to the other.

“God, I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea. Now get us back to the farm in the Landy, as I would desperately like to pick up where we left off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as if I have come to a natural end - let me know if you think otherwise! I have loved writing this one, particularly as LTIH is such a family favourite. Thanks for reading and pray for Season 6. 
> 
> Adopting Boris’ changing messaging strategy:
> 
> Stay Alert - Control the Virus - Keep Reading & Writing!


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